


Visiting Hours Are Over

by SophieValentine (Saeldur)



Series: Heaven Can't Wait [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25591645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saeldur/pseuds/SophieValentine
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find a new normal after the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't, and neither of them want anything to do with their Head Offices anymore. Except. Neither side has really gotten the memo.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Heaven Can't Wait [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854859
Comments: 23
Kudos: 71





	1. Closed on Sundays

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19893115) by [arkhamcycle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arkhamcycle/pseuds/arkhamcycle). 
  * Inspired by [Adventures In Attempting To Purchase A Book From That Weird Old Soho Bookshop, A. Z. Fell & Co.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19315309) by [Quandtuniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quandtuniverse/pseuds/Quandtuniverse). 
  * Inspired by [An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Therapist's Office](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521157) by [dragonimp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp). 
  * Inspired by [Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20177950) by [Nnm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nnm/pseuds/Nnm). 



So after all of the fuss about the Apocalypse, and the subsequent restructuring of the world, and the kidnapping, and the near-murder (they were definitely murder attempts), and the very strange visit from one of the higher ranking beings of Aziraphale’s Head Office, he was just starting to think (again) that maybe everything was finally back to normal (again).

He and Crowley had hardly spent any time apart since the Ritz, and didn’t really feel inclined to do so. They’d spent years together raising the Antichrist-That-Wasn’t, and had gotten quite used to being in each other’s pockets. So now they did it over again - only without having to raise a human child (though Crowley, obviously, had done the most on that account). They still had walks in the park and dinners out; they still sat and talked over a decent vintage until too late at night. But now - now, Crowley could lounge around the Bookshop while Aziraphale was doing whatever he did (not sell books, certainly). And Aziraphale could lounge around Crowley’s flat while the Serpent of Eden lounged on him.

It was all rather delightful, actually, not having anything to be doing, or anyplace to be going unless they wanted to be. Neither could really be stopped from summoning up a miracle (or demonic miracle - anti-miracle?) here or there, but they weren’t being  _ told _ to do it, and it seemed to make all the difference in the world. Took a lot of the pressure off, honestly. And it was all going quite well. No visits, no calls, no nothing.

Until today.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, the shop was closed, Aziraphale was carefully cutting a damaged cover free of a book he’d been wanting to restore for a while now. Crowley was curled up (literally) and soaking in the sun. It was eight days past the Apocalypse-That-Wasn’t, and seven days past the Ritz, and two days until their  _ next _ meeting with the Throne, and someone was knocking on the door.

A very Ethereal someone.

Crowley slithered off a settee that had made itself a new home near the front window, all the better to soak up aforementioned sun, and up to Aziraphale. The angel was now standing in the middle of the shop, looking at the front door and wringing his hands. Crowley wriggled himself upright and on two legs again and looked in the same direction. He sniffed, pushing his sunglasses down to stare.

“Wha’d’you reckon?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Aziraphale answered, watching as the angel in a dove-grey suit jacket and what looked very much like blue jeans peered in through the front door and saw nothing. “I don’t recognize them.” Two humans that had loitered in the shop before walked up then and started talking with the angel.

“Door locked?”

“Sign’s turned.” The angel turned to regard his companion, “Would it matter if it were locked?”

Crowley shrugged, “Might if they’re polite. Or if the angel’s an idiot, I guess. Or new. He looks young - doesn’t he look young?”

“Very young. But that’s not really-”

“Yeah, yeah, but still.”

“But still,” Aziraphale agreed, reluctant to do something so nice or gracious as walking up and inviting the strange angel in. He was lost in his own musing when Crowley started moving.

“I’m gonna ask.”

“Crowley, no.” But the demon was already to the door.

The three young people standing outside the door of A.Z. Fell & Co. Bookstore turned around, gawking and silent when Crowley swung the door in and leaned out. Like children getting caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Or grown adults plotting something obscene, or at the very least, illegal.

“Planning a break-in are you?”

“What? No!” The angel in the suit-jacket replied, even as one of the others answered with “Maybe.” and a shrug.

Crowley smirked at the ‘maybe’ vandal and then let his senses flare out a bit, getting the shape of the angel in front of him. He was...tiny. And new. And scaring him off feels a bit like it would be kicking a puppy. Which, you know, demon and all. But puppies. And Aziraphale might object. Instead, Crowley looks back at the door that’s still in his hand, sees the sign is flipped to “CLOSED” and then looks back at the three standing on the shop’s porch.

“If you lot can’t read, probably best not to start at this shop.”

“Oh! I...oh.” The angel brightened, then looked confused, “I didn’t realize the sign meant the  _ store  _ was closed. I thought it was just saying the  _ door _ is closed.”

The two humans blinked at him.

Crowley blinked at him.

The demon shut the door in all their faces and went back inside. Crowley walked past Aziraphale for the back room and a drink, “The Angel’s an idiot.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale bustled up to the front, all smiles and apologies on his lips as he opened the door. He motioned for and then grabbed the arm of the angel out on the stoop, pulling him inside.

“Terribly sorry,” He apologized to the potential - ugh - customers, “Family business. I’ll be open tomorrow though! Closed on Sundays, you see.” And without waiting for any sort of response, Aziraphale closed the door in their faces, again, and locked the door with a snap of his fingers.

“Right.” Aziraphale nodded and went to follow up on Crowley - knowing he’d already be in the liquor cabinet. When the angel didn’t follow him, the Principality stopped and motioned for him to follow, “Come on. You can explain what you’re about over a cup of tea.”

“Oh!” The Angel caught up with Aziraphale in a second, keeping pace through the store easily, “Yes, please.” He got a little sidetracked, looking around, but paused in the doorway to the back room and announced, “I’ve always wanted to try tea!”

“You’ve never had tea?” Crowley was sprawled on more than less of the sofa in the back room, a glass of something in his hand as the two angels entered the room. He watched as the strange angel cautiously stepped closer; Aziraphale bustled about in the background, starting water to boil.

“Oh, no.” the Angel shook his head slowly and lowered himself, ever-so-slowly, onto the far side of the sofa, eyes never leaving Crowley, “This is my first time for tea. Or any drink, really.” He licked his lips and sat a little straighter, seeming to pluck up the courage to ask, “You’re  _ him, _ aren’t you?”

“I’m  _ a _ him, I suppose, at the moment. Who’re you, then?”

“Oh!” The Angel’s fingertips came up to touch his lips, and he flushed a little with embarrassment, “That’s right - I’m supposed to say.” He clasped his hands in his lap, “I’m so used to everyone knowing who everyone else is. My name is Chayliel. And you’re...” His eyes lit up as he smiled,  _ “Crowley, _ right?”

Crowley glared at the Angel through his glasses and took a sip of his bourbon. “Could be.”

The Angel looked back as Aziraphale approached, that same oddly rapturous look on his face, and the Principality couldn’t help but be slightly peeved.  _ What did he want? _ He set down the tea set with a little more force than was strictly necessary, then winced as the china rattled. Still. He poured the tea and fixed two cups the way he liked it and passed one off to the angel on his sofa, giving moony-eyed looks to his demon.

“Thank-you,” Chayliel accepted the cup and saucer as though it would explode if it touched it wrong. He held it all awkwardly for a moment, but then mimicked how Aziraphale held his own, and brought the teacup to his lips. “Mm!” He looked at the cup as though it had done something to him, “How odd.” The Angel downed the rest of the contents in one gulp, over Aziraphale’s stuttering objection.

Crowley laughed, not only for the odd little angel, but for the look of sheer, unadulterated annoyance on his angel’s face. This Chayliel character beamed at him, like Crowley had actually praised him for downing tea like a shot at a frat party, and it discomfited him some. He shuffled in his seat and took another swig of some truly middling alcohol. Probably a gift the angel had received and had been too polite to throw out.

“You’re meant to sip at it.” Aziraphale chastised, not bothering to keep the disapproval out of his voice.

“Oh. Oops.”

The angel then did something so bizarre, so  _ abnormal, _ that Crowley had to quit the room entirely, lest he risk his angel smiting him for laughing himself stupid. Chayliel looked Aziraphale right in the eyes and spit all the tea right back up into the cup.

“Sweet lord,” Aziraphale closed his eyes, pointedly ignoring the demonic  _ cackling _ in the next room. Opening his eyes, he looked skyward, wondering if this was some sort of test. Oh. But he could pray and Pahaliah would hear, wouldn’t she? She was probably terribly busy though. Best to save it. Looking back at the angel, Aziraphale sat down his cup and saucer and watched as he was mirrored.

“Don’t-  _ please _ don’t ever do that again, Chayliel. It’s horribly uncouth to spit up one’s drink. And, truth be told, unless you want to be thought poorly of, you shouldn’t try to drink more than a mouthful of any sort of liquid anyway.”

“Got it.” Chayliel nodded firmly.

“Have you...not been to Earth before?” Aziraphale spared a glance for the demon now lounging in his doorway, still wiping at tears in the corners of his eyes. Oh how he wanted to throw something at the fractious creature.

“Oh, no. I’m mostly for paperwork upstairs. I mean, I’ve watched here and there over the years - but it’s so hard to keep up with every little detail! I don’t know how you do it, honestly.”

“Mm.”

“But - you know - I might be good at something once I’m around for six thousand years.”

“That’s….you know I’ve only been  _ here _ for six thousand years. I’m a bit older than that.”

Chayliel blinked, “I...didn’t think about that. I sort of thought you were born for the Eastern Gate.” His brow furrowed, “I’ll have to ask some of the others if they knew.”

“Which others?” Crowley went and poured himself another glass. Given the wincing look of commiseration from his angel, the bourbon was definitely a gift.

“The- ….uh...um. Other...angels? Uh. That I work with?”

_ Ooh, a secret. _ Crowley turned and regarded the little angel with a tip of his head. His mouth fell open a little - all the better to taste the unspoken words in the air. He was  _ very _ good at tasting lies. Probably why, once the sting had worn off, Aziraphale’s words at the bandstand didn’t taste quite so bitter. Terrible liar, that angel.

Chayliel looked in his direction, guilty as the day is long, and Crowley let his fangs slip a little. Weaving his way through the furniture, he sat down on the arm of the sofa. The angel gulped, and Crowley put one hand on the back of the couch and leaned in.

“What’s your name again?”

“Ch-hay-lliel.”

“And your...Rank?” Crowley let his glasses start to slide down his nose.

“Angel?”

“And why are you  _ here _ , Ssshhayliel the Angel?” Crowley tipped his head, his body slowly following the curving line of his neck.

“Huh! Ta- to-” The angel struggled to string his words together, shivering a little, “To - uh - cover for my Principality. He- we- uh-”

_ “We who?” _ It was practically a purr, and he had the angel pressed into the sofa trying to backpedal.

“That’s- I’m...not supposed to say,” Chayliel’s voice trembled, and he tried to look to Aziraphale for help, but Crowley was taking up the whole of his vision. His next words came out in barely a whisper,  _ “I’m not supposed to be here, actually, but I couldn’t- ah- I couldn’t-” _

_ “Resist?” _

The angel whimpered, and Crowley hissed in response, golden eyes lighting.

Chayliel jolted, his wings FLOOMPHING into the real world in a molting of little fluffy feathers.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was all for letting the demon try to worm information out of the odd little visitor, but scaring the poor thing was too much. “Go -  _ find _ somewhere to be,” Crowley only shrugged at him and threw himself into another chair, leaving room for Aziraphale to bustle over and clear a space for himself to sit down.

“Here, now,” He soothed, reaching out and taking the angel’s hands in his own. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf. He soothed and shushed and straightened his hair and his feathers and set his suit jacket plumb again, until the angel finally calmed enough to put his wings away. “That’s better. That’s much better, isn’t it?”

Chayliel nodded dumbly.

“Now, I think you’d better tell me why you’re really here - hadn’t you?”

Sighing, the angel explained, after one or two false starts. “There are...there are quite a few of us - picked by the Throne Pahaliah - to be your replacement while you’re on...vacation.”

“Replacement?”

“Well! No! Not that - you can’t be  _ replaced, _ but, you know, someone has to do the work you would be assigned otherwise. So the Throne rounded a bunch of us up and sent us down here to cover for you. Just while you’re gone.”

“Define...a bunch.”

“Thirty-three.”

“I’m sorry-” Crowley leaned forward, “Did you just say there’s thirty-three of you little buggers wandering around here now?”

“Well, no...but also yes. I mean, there were already angels on Earth. But. Angels don’t typically do the  _ big  _ miracles.” Chayliel straightened, pushing his shoulders back, “Except. Thirty-three of us were chosen for our skill to do what the Principality Aziraphale won’t be doing while on vacation.” He turned to beam at Aziraphale,  _ “I’m _ assigned to the London area.”

“I see,” Aziraphale saw what he was getting at, but that didn’t answer the other question, “But then why are you  _ here? _ There’s nothing in my shop that needs miracling.”

“Oh, well...I…” Chayliel sighed and looked down at his hands, “I just wanted to meet you. The first time we would have met would’ve been when you took command of your unit and ordered us all to march out. But that didn’t happen. And Pahaliah told all of us who volunteered to cover for you all about your story, and I just- I just wanted to meet the Angel that- that- told Management to stuff it.”

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a look.

“Not exactly how I’d put it, but...alright. We’ve met now.” Aziraphale patted him on the knee. He had no designs to host this angel any longer than he had to. But. It wasn’t like he was actually trying to wheedle Aziraphale into coming back, so, “Are you all set up for a place to stay? Somewhere...else?”

“Oh yes,” The angel nodded eagerly, “All set up by the Home Office. I’m not exactly sure why I needed so much space, but the Throne Pahaliah said it was…  _ 'integral to the experience.’ _ So I’m going to give it a go.”

“There’s a chap,” Aziraphale patted him on the knee again and stood up, “Look - I really wasn’t expecting a visit today. Maybe we can have lunch next week, once you’re all settled in and have had a chance to have a look around.”

“Oh, yes!” Chayliel popped up, all smiles and nods, “That’d be wonderful.”

“Are you assigned out here for the duration? Until the trial, I mean?”

“Oh no. Only the next five or six years, depending,” Chayliel smiled as Aziraphale led him back through the store, Crowley swaggering behind and bringing up the tail of their little procession.

“Depending on what?” The Demon asked.

“Oh, performance, mainly. But also how long the Throne expects the pre-trial to drag out.” He cleared his throat and stopped just at the entryway, adding, “There were so  _ many  _ volunteers that Pahaliah is having to rotate us through.”

Hand on the door, Aziraphale stopped, “I’m sorry - what now? So...many?”

“Oh yes. This trial is all anyone’s talking about upstairs. All of us have heard the story by now. How an Angel of Heaven and a Demon of Hell-” Here he looks at Crowley with such adoration the demon has to make sure his sunglasses are on straight, “-averted the Apocalypse and  _ saved _ humanity - God’s most favored creation. It’s  _ very _ compelling.”

It was said with such sincerity that Aziraphale rather found himself drifting rather than listening when the angel spoke next. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Lunch. When should I come back?”

“Next...Wednesday, I think.”

“Okay! I’ll see you both then!” Chayliel slipped out the door, but was quickly back, peeking his head in, “Aziraphale?” The angel stopped, his hand still on the door handle.

“Yes?” The Principality tried (and largely failed) to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He was certain he was about to be asked when Wednesday was.

“We would have followed you anywhere, you know?” Chayliel smiled, soft, “But I’m glad you chose this.”

_ “Oh, sweet child.” _ Before he rightly knew what he was doing, Aziraphale threw open the door and gathered the little angel up in his arms. “I’m glad too.”

Chayliel hugged him back, happiness bubbling up so sharply he glowed with it.

“Alright, alright,” Crowley groused from across the room turning his head from the  _ light _ the two of them were shedding off, “You’ll blind half of London at this rate - break it up.”

The two of them split apart, grinning, with Chayliel giving a giddy sort of laugh, “Everyone was going to be  _ so _ jealous you let me in the shop - but this is  _ so _ much better! Lunch!” The little angel bounced on his toes, gave a jaunty wave, and all but flew out the door.

The lock clicked on the front door and the both of them stood there in silence a moment.

Aziraphale turned and pilfered the glass in the demon’s hand, downing the last of his alcohol in one gulp, exactly like he’d told the little angel not to do,  _ “Eugh. _ Why didn’t you miracle it better? This is more appalling than I gave it credit for.”

Crowley shrugged and followed his angel back to the back room, “I figured if he wanted to try it, I wasn’t gonna waste a miracle on him.”

Aziraphale chuckled and shook his head,  _ “Terrible. _ C’mon. Let’s crack into the good stuff. I’ve a small batch bourbon I've wanted to try for ages, and I need the taste of  _ this _ out of my mouth.”

“If that’s what you want to use.”

_ “Crowley!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're back! And now dealing with at least one of the curious little angel babies the Throne Pahaliah has sicced on the world. The first fic will help this one make a little more sense, but it isn't strictly necessary to read, as the gist of it will be repeated, eventually, strung out between chapters here.
> 
> The fics linked for inspiration are ones I highly recommend. Very cute. Very clever. I had a vague notion that the two humans speaking with Chayliel on the stoop are the writers of the guide that arkhamcycle wrote, trying to inform the poor angel he hasn't a shot of getting in on Sundays.


	2. Closed on Tuesdays

Crowley turned the shop’s sign to ‘CLOSED’ and stood out on the little porch, waiting for his angel to secure away whatever project he was in the middle of and bustle out after him. There was a human loitering on the street nearby and he fixed him with a stare.

After plucking up the courage, the young man asked, “Closed for the day?” He had a piece of paper clutched in his hands. List of books, maybe?

Crowley started to answer, but Aziraphale came out just that moment, closing and locking the door behind them. He turned and smiled at the young man, and was quick to assure, “Oh, so sorry. We’re closed just now. Just popping out for a spot of lunch.”

Oddly, his shoulders sagged, and he looked at the list before giving a resigned sort of sigh and thanking the both of them anyway. He shuffled down the street, tucking his list away.

“Oh dear. What was that about?”

“No clue. C’mon. We’ll be late if we don’t  _ get a wiggle on.” _

Aziraphale huffed a laugh and reached out expectantly.

Crowley sighed and took the angel’s hand. Trying for just put out enough that the angel didn’t change his mind. But put out enough that he didn’t look the sort of ecstatic that he felt about it. Unseemly in a demon. Let the angel be excited.

They walked the however many blocks down to Franco’s, talking about the odd young man only for long enough for Aziraphale to decide it was more important to think about what he would order for lunch. It wasn’t until they were literally in front of the building that it occurred to either of them.

“We didn’t tell her where to meet us.”

“We didn’t tell her a  _ time, _ angel.”

While they stood there like two idiots, the bright red door opened, and an employee stepped a foot out onto the sidewalk, “Your table is ready, gentlemen.”

They shared a look. Shrugged. And followed the lad in.

They wove their way through the packed room of businesspersons chatting across pristinely white-clothed tables, nestled in red-cushioned comfy chairs. Crowley was pleased to note they’d updated the wallpaper since they’d last been. Equally pleased they’d kept the long mirrors that reflected back and forth across the room.

Lilah was hugging some woman as they got closer, and when they parted, she turned and walked past them. She was well-dressed, older, sniffling into a kerchief, but she smiled as she walked by. Nodded in hello, even. Only Aziraphale wasn’t too stunned to nod back. He also clasped hands with the Throne as she leaned in and pressed their cheeks together in greeting.

“It’s a new thing I’ve learned,” Lilah turned to Crowley and held her hands out, “May I?”

He nodded a little dumbly, and was quickly pulled in close, the curve of their jaws almost-but-not-quite touching. She smelled a little like ozone and...lilies, maybe.

“So good to see you both again,” Lilah smiled happily and went to reclaim her seat. She was all in white again today. A sort of one-piece suit with wide, gauzy, belled sleeves, and a dipping neckline. No hat today, but gold accented at her neck and wrists. All that white was still a stark, beautiful contrast to her bronze skin, and the slash of dark hair that hung straight down her back.

Aziraphale took his seat having already given someone their wine order. The Throne was already drinking champagne, and Crowley remembered how much she’d drank at the Ritz. Clearly a favorite.

“Not sure your celestial favors are getting more subtle,” Crowley said in lieu of actual greeting, gesturing over his shoulder, the way the lady had gone.

“Oh, no. But it’s so  _ hard _ to be subtle.” She sighed to Aziraphale, “I don’t know how you manage it. How you just...don’t... _ fix _ everything. There’s so  _ much. _ I can’t hardly stand it.”

“I know what you mean.” Aziraphale thanked the sommelier as their wine was poured and tasted and approved and the bottle left, “But that’s...that’s the trick. You can’t solve every problem for every person. And, honestly, it's almost worse if you do. Then they won’t know how to solve the  _ next _ problem for themselves.”

“Oh.” Lilah looked down, a small frown on her face, “I hadn’t thought of that.” She took a sip of champagne, and looked up to Crowley, “Is it easier on your end?”

“Ah, yeah. Well.” He flopped a hand in the classic ‘so-so’ gesture, “Some stuff doesn’t actually take hardly any effort. Some stuff, though, you can break your back trying to get to happen, and in the end - it wasn’t really them. It was you. So. Easy to ruin it.”

Lilah hummed appreciatively, then lit up at the sight of waiters bringing their first dishes. “I hope the two of you don’t mind. I took a stab at ordering for the lot of us. You’ll have to tell me how poorly I’ve done.”

Aziraphale took a breath in to say  _ something _ but when the dish was actually placed in front of him, all he could say was, “Yes, please.”

Crowley laughed and snagged up his fork to deal with whatever the Throne had decided would be his preference. He was decently sure it was crab.

The Throne started in on her salad, and gestured to Crowley with her empty fork, “If I had to hazard a guess, I would’ve said avocado toast was one of yours.”

“MM.” The Demon couldn’t argue with that logic. Wouldn’t, either. Avocado toast was sort of brilliant. Snobby, over-priced, and just tasty enough you couldn’t actually knock it. He took the little wedge of lemon and squeezed it out over the crab and avocado, quite happily. It was gone in three bites. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was making slow, passionate love to some sort of cheese dish. He looked up with such a rapturous expression on his face that Crowley had to look anywhere else. Lest it remind him of  _ other _ things.

“I would say this is a very successful first round,” Aziraphale complimented, “I was really talking to Crowley about this very dish on the way over. One of my favorites, actually.”

“Is it?” Lilah smiled happily, “I’m glad. Maybe you’ll be lenient on me later if I’ve picked wrong. So then: tell me. How’s vacation treating you so far? Any interesting news?”

“Mm,” Aziraphale patted at his mouth with his napkin, “I had meant to ask you - about my replacements.”

_ “Replacements?” _

“Yes. Those angels taking up my work while I’m ‘on vacation’.”

Lilah’s expression went from confused to surprised to resigned in a matter of moments. She stabbed at her salad with annoyance, and took a contemplative bite. After a moment, she asked, “Which of them already visited you?”

“Ahm...well. Er…”

Lilah’s eyes went to Crowley, and the demon smirked, “If you think I’m gonna tattle that easily…”

Lilah’s stern expression broke like waves and she laughed, “They’re not in trouble, whoever they are. I’m just...disappointed. I told them not to bother you.”

“Oh, well, he was no  _ bother _ really. I was just a little…”

“Concerned?”

“Annoyed.”

_ “Surprised,” _ Azirphale clarifies, looking at each of his dining companions in turn. “I hadn’t expected anyone to be by, and I was a little…”

_ “Concerned,” _ Crowley volunteered again.

“Fine. I was a little concerned that it was some sort of check-up or monitoring or- or- something.”

“I see,” Lilah thought for a moment before taking a sip, “There isn’t going to be any check-ups or anything of the like. We  _ can _ send someone ‘round every once in a while if you want to keep abreast of news from Home Office, maybe relay information out to those angels who are covering for you, that sort of thing. But I wouldn’t presume to send anyone unannounced to bother you during this time of recovery from your trying ordeal.”

Crowley snorted a laugh even as Aziraphale thanked the Throne sincerely. Her words had all the leanings of corporate-speak that didn’t actually  _ mean _ anything. And if the way she smiled at Crowley was any indication, she knew well what she was doing.

“Well, so, if he’s not going to get in trouble…”

“He’s not.” Lilah put one hand over her heart and held the other up.

Aziraphale nodded, “Chayliel?”

Lilah only chuckled, “Yes, I’m not surprised. You have quite the little  _ following _ but he’s one of the more smitten.”

“Following?”

_ “Smitten?” _

Aziraphale reached out and put his hand over Crowley’s on the table at the snarl in his voice.  _ Really. _ Some angel being smitten with  _ him _ was nothing to do with  _ him _ being smitten with anyone but the fluffed up demon next to him, looking for all the world like he wanted to run that angel to ground and scare him to discorporation.

Crowley startled at the touch, and huffed at the angel’s soft look. He slouched back into his chair and crossed his arms.  _ Ugh. _ He hadn’t meant to sound so-  _ Ugh! _ He curled his lip at the smug-looking Throne across the table. Didn’t stop him asking.

“What did you mean, ‘smitten’?”

Pahaliah tsked and corrected, “I never agreed to answer questions that start with ‘what’.”

The waiters came with their next course while Crowley puzzled that out. They swapped out empty plates with a ruthless efficiency that Crowley had come to expect when dining with the Throne. Maybe, though, it would be better to say the  _ Throne _ expected it, and so it happened.

“Ooh, and what are we having now?” Despite his initial reluctance, Aziraphale was quite excited now by the prospect of a surprise. There wouldn’t be hardly anything here he didn’t like, anyway. And he was interested in what the Throne would pick. He was really more concerned with Crowley. The demon didn’t always eat when they went out, and he was always rather fussy about what he  _ did _ eat. Nothing sweet. Nothing salty. Nothing  _ liquid. _ And to be perfectly honest, he didn’t really like noodles either.

“Alright,  _ why _ is the little angel smitten with my- with Aziraphale?”

“Well,  _ Crowley, _ I would think you of all people would be better able to answer that question than I - wouldn’t you?”

Crowley speared one of his ravioli on his fork and swallowed it whole.

Lilah smiled slyly, then turned her expectant gaze to her fellow celestial, guessing at the delay. “Did you want your truffle risotto? Or perhaps you would prefer the minestrone?” She flicked her gaze down to the untouched soup.

“Oh! Er...they’re both very good. I-” And before he could extoll the virtues of risotto, he found their dishes switched. Well. Couldn’t really complain  _ now. _ It’d be rude not to eat it. “I  _ do _ prefer a good soup course before mains.”

Lilah chuckled and dug in to the dish that was now hers, “Can’t win ‘em all. One for four at this point.”

“Two for two on mine.”

“Oh, good!” Lilah savored the creamy dish a moment more before prompting, “Now. Which part of your question should you like to tackle today, Anthony J. Crowley?”

“Part?”

“Oh yes. As we said. Rather large question. Rather large answer. Pick the first thing you want to know the ‘why’ of - remembering only ‘why’s - and I’ll tell you what I know of the answer.”

Crowley thought about it for a minute. He and Aziraphale had talked at length about what they would ask. What  _ Crowley _ would ask. And they’d come up with several good ideas. But what came out of his mouth is, “Why didn’t you stop them trying to kill Aziraphale?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale made the protest mostly on principle at this point. He knew the demon was going to ask. And he couldn’t say he wasn’t a bit curious. For all her supposed involvement in his life (wildly unnoticed and unfelt), the fact she didn’t object to what the Archangels had planned was a bit of a mystery he wouldn’t mind solved.

Lilah took a deep breath in through her nose, setting down her fork, and clasping her hands in her lap. It reminded Crowley of the little angel that had come by the shop on Sunday. Wouldn’t be surprised if the kid had ever served as her assistant.

The Throne looked to Crowley and let the breath out again. “I could say it was because I knew he would be safe. I could say it was because I knew his faith strong enough, or God kind enough, or my fellows good enough to call it off, but all of those would be lies. And your question will get the truth.”

“The truth is I didn’t know.” Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows pinched together in discomfort, as she turned to the angel, “For all I wanted to look out for you, I wasn’t there when you could have used my interference the most.” She shook her head to cut the Principality off, “I was distracted - I  _ allowed _ myself to be distracted and overwhelmed. To have my attentions on where it mattered less. I would have been-” Lilah cut herself off and closed her eyes, taking a calming breath as the lights flickered in the restaurant.

She opened those chocolate brown eyes, and they glowed as though backlit, “I would have been  _ incandescently _ angry to have discovered that anything should have happened to you that may have been within my power to prevent.” She smiled, but it wasn’t strong enough to reach her eyes, “If I hadn’t found myself smote out of existence right alongside you for interfering,  _ you-” _ She turned back to Crowley, the holy light banking behind her eyes, “-might have had a new coworker.”

“Not for  _ me,” _ Aziraphale protested, instantly. He wasn’t worth Falling for. Wasn’t worth getting smited for! What was 6,000 years of pussyfooting around each other for, if it wasn’t for preventing someone getting smote on his behalf? He very uncomfortably found himself on the receiving end of two angry looks he had no idea what to do with.

Crowley looked to Pahaliah for backup, but the Throne didn’t exactly look forthcoming.  _ Damn her. _ He didn’t really need to go upending his basket and pouring his heart all over the table, but. Well. He couldn’t just leave Aziraphale over there. Thinking he wasn’t- that there wasn’t-

“Of  _ course _ for you, angel.” Crowley sighed and whipped off his sunglasses, rubbing at the spot between his eyes before he returned them to their proper place. “What do you think I’ve been saying to you all this time? I like your choice in wine? You honestly think I would’ve saved you that riot in Rome, or the guillotine in France, or the Nazis, or the Apocalypse, or- or-  _ Satan  _ \- for someone’s sake - if I didn’t think you were worth it?”

His angel looked fit to burst into tears and maybe throw himself at Crowley, with a cry of  _ ‘oh darling’, _ and the demon panicked, “But that doesn’t explain her!” He gestured across the table, “She doesn’t hardly know you! She hasn’t- ...known you for 6,000 years. She doesn’t...know you like I know you.”

Aziraphale let his proud, grateful smile spread across his face slowly and tried  _ not _ to blind his dearest love with the depth of his affection for him right now. But oh. Once they were  _ home. _ He was going to smother him in it until he combusted. And the way the flush was creeping up his cheeks, Aziraphale had a pretty good idea the demon knew it, too. He gave a pat to Crowley’s knee and turned to face the Throne. “Well then: you now. Surely,  _ you  _ can’t have meant that. That you’d Fall to protect me. Crowley’s right - we hardly know each other.”

Lilah took a sip of her ever-filling champagne. “My reason for Falling is the same now as it has ever been. If I Fell, it wouldn’t be for defending  _ you, _ Aziraphale. It would be because I had done what I believed to be the right thing, and the right thing wasn’t good enough for Heaven.”

“And I’ve decided - in light of recent events - to get a sight more militant about it. Damn the consequences. Either it’s right or it isn’t. I’m not going to live my life looking over my shoulder. And if Gabriel or Sandalphon or Uriel or Michael or whoever else decides that means I should be burnt up in hellfire, well let me assure you, they won’t have to push me - I’ll Leap.”

Aziraphale looked fairly shell shocked, but Crowley reached across the table with his wine glass and waggled it, happily clinking it against the Throne’s champagne flute. “Cheers.”

“Cheers!” She downed the lot of it and ordered another bottle.

The Throne, whether she knew it or not, was well on her way to tipsy. Crowley had every intention of helping her over that line and straight into swozzled. He snagged the bottle she’d ordered from the well-meaning kid who brought it and topped the holy host up himself.

“Thank-you, Crowley - what a dear.” She was just about to dig into her food again when she caught sight of the angel. “Oh, don’t- don’t look at me like that, Aziraphale, I’ve already told you once I don’t  _ want _ to Fall. I’m just not particularly afraid of it anymore. Some things are worth Falling for.”

Aziraphale was halfway to protesting that, when it hit him. With all the force of a german bomb on an unsuspecting church. “Oh.” His eyes flitted to the demon next to him, and he quickly turned back when he’d realized Crowley was looking at him still.

“Let me ask you a question, little Principality.” Lilah noted they’d quite lost their appetite for whatever was in front of her, and snapped her fingers for the next course to come out, “How many of the Host do you think have Fallen in the last 6,000 years? Fallen. Cast Out-”

_ “Sauntered Vaguely Downwards.” _

Lilah blinked at the demon, “Oh I  _ like _ that one.”

“Er…?”

“I’ll give you a hint. It’s less than 50.”

“Ah...40?”

“Fewer.”

“30?”

Lilah gestured downwards.

“Twenty...five?”

“Zero,” Crowley guessed.

“Got it in one, little demon.” The Throne fiddled with the stem of her champagne flute, “Not a one. And...do you think that there haven’t been any causes?”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale paused to thank the waiter that exchanged his plates.

“In 6,000 years, you don’t think anyone’s done anything worthy of being Cast Out? No horrible infractions, no questioning, no atrocities against the Divine Order? Do you think that no one left on their own? That no one looked ‘round and went, ‘yeah, I’m off’?”

“Well, I...to be honest, I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Most don’t.” Lilah agreed, “But that’s the rub. There have been opportunities aplenty. And yet...nothing.”

“And what does that  _ mean _ exactly?” Aziraphale barely registered Crowley taking his plate and swapping with his. Whatever it was, he’d eat it for the poor demon.

“Not a clue,” The Throne shrugged, “Just thought it was worth mentioning. ‘S’got me baffled, and I’d like someone else to have a crack at it. No one else has cared to notice.” She gestured at the plates, “No good?”

“Duck.” Crowley answered.

Aziraphale looked over then, and realized what Crowley had done. He couldn’t help a fond little smile before he turned back to the Throne and explained, “We go and feed the ducks at St. James-”

_ “You _ feed them.”

“-and so it seems awfully rude to eat them.”

“Ah.” Lilah smiled, “I’ll remember in the future. No ducks.”

“Thank-you.”

The rest of the main course passed companionably, if no more enlightening. The Throne mainly asked for recommendations for travel and things to see - she was going to start her own little vacation soon and she wanted to skip the boring parts. (Of which Crowley approved, and Aziraphale objected that there  _ were _ no boring parts) And then she asked about America. If they’d been. Particularly she wanted to know about the West Coast. Neither of them had practical experience, though, and said as much.

The Throne drank far too much champagne on her own, and seemed a little concerned once she giggled at nothing and couldn’t quite keep her words in the right order.

“It’s called being drunk,” Crowley instructed, feeling quite proud that he hadn’t managed it too, with the free-flowing wine at the table.

“Oh. I’m not sure if I like it. I don’t... _ not _ like it.” Lilah hummed, “Well, dessert up next, and so I think I’ll leave the two of you to it.”

“Oh - must you go so soon?”

“Places to be, little Principality. Things to do. Besides…” She drifted a little in her seat, “I don’t think I much care for dessert.” Completing missing the forlorn look on the angel’s face, Lilah leaned in to address Crowley once again. “You know - in all this, we’ve talked about why Aziraphale is safe from-from re-per-cussions. But you should know that- that I think it would be in Hell’s best interest to leave you well enough alone, little demon. And I hope they never have to learn why.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Crowley looked off into the restaurant, trying not to look as keen as he felt for the answer just then.

“Hmm….why, why, why indeed?” Lilah stood up slowly, with all the careful deliberation of a person who knew well if they didn’t devote all their attention to a task they’d fail spectacularly.  _ “Why _ don’t you save that  _ why _ for later? Hmm? Don’t want to- to use them all up in one go.”

Angel and demon stood as she did, and Crowley nearly reached out to steady her, when one of the waitstaff appeared out of nowhere and hooked her hand in the crook of his elbow. Neat trick.

The Throne gave a little finger-waggle of a wave, “Ta, darlings! See you in a month or so - I’m thinking... _ Chinese.” _

“See you.” Aziraphale said to her retreating back. He watched as she was led out of the restaurant, and leaned into the aisle to watch through the giant front windows that she was helped into a waiting cab. Just a strange, strange Angel. And nothing like he expected a higher up to be. Granted, his limited interaction with higher ups generally involved Gabriel and his fellow Archangels. Aziraphale sat back down in a bit of a daze, once again.

“She got you pegged.”

Aziraphale looked down. There was one little plate with a slice of chocolate and caramel cheesecake. Crowley had some sort of fruit sorbet. “Well.” He cut into the cheesecake and took a bite. “You’ll not hear me complain about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its fun coming up with what I think all of their preferences would be.
> 
> (And Lilah is a terrible, horrible, no-good liar-liar-pants-on-fire. She absolutely loves dessert. If its chocolate.)


	3. Closed on Fridays

It was three o’clock in the morning and the shop’s phone was ringing.

It was three o’clock in the morning and Crowley had been in the middle of a very wonderful dream about clouds, maybe. Something about flying, certainly. He’d definitely been very comfortable, and then his pillow moved. Because it was three o’clock in the morning on a Thursday and Crowley had his head lovingly nestled on Aziraphale’s glorious, pillowy thighs. And _of course_ Aziraphale was getting up to _answer the bloody phone_.

Crowley grumbled something resembling words and reached out futilely to try and snag any part of those tartan pajamas that were sliding out of bed.

“-be right back, dear.”

_“Leave it.”_ The demon practically growled instead of spoke.

“Well I really don’t think they’re going to stop.” Aziraphale was slipping his arms into a silk housecoat and tying the sash when Crowley cracked an eye, “I’m surprised you didn’t wake sooner. I miracled it silent when it rang, but they just called back. This is the third time now.”

Crowley was vaguely aware the damn phone was still ringing in the background, long past when it should have stopped. He shifted his legs then his hips then his torso and half-slinked-half-flopped out of the bed and onto the floor, folding himself upright. Aziraphale was giving him a shocked sort of look, but he was pinking around the ears. The demon pressed a kiss to his cheek and headed down the stairs, with a, “Soon as I set them straight.”

“Oh, but!”

Crowley could hear the angel coming down the steps after him, and just as he turned through the back rooms he felt the cool slide of silk on his shoulders and stopped. He got maneuvered around by the collar of the thing, only to face a fully flushed Aziraphale, trying to bunch the front of his own housecoat closed around Crowley’s form.

“What if someone walks by the front _windows,_ Crowley? And sees you in your- your altogether?”

“Lucky them.” He smirks as this causes an annoyed huff from his angel, the ringing of the phone an annoyance he silences with a snap.

“They’ll just call back,” the Principality grumbles, fussing, stepping closer and fiddling with the collar.

“Maybe,” Crowley allows, tilting his head and leaning down towards his angel’s upturned face. They’re a hair’s breadth apart and the phone starts back up.

It’s three fifteen in the morning and the shop’s phone is ringing.

It’s three fifteen in the morning and Crowley had been in the middle of the start of what promised to be a very enjoyable way to pass the time. There would be touching, maybe. Kissing, certainly. He was definitely annoyed. Because his lips were half a thought away from Aziraphale’s lips, and so of course whoever the hell-heav- _whatever_ was calling back. The demon sighed.

Crowley tugged the crushed silk out of Aziraphale’s hands and shoved his arms through the sleeves, rounding on the phone. He could hear the noise of protest following along behind him, as he hadn’t bothered to cinch the damn thing up and it billowed behind him.

The demon yanked the receiver off the wall and yelled, _“WHAT?”_

“I- er- are-?”

“Spit it out! It’s uncommon early, and some of us were _trying_ to sleep.”

It’s an active effort for Crowley to bite back the fond smile as Aziraphale bustles up and reaches around him for the ties, bundling him up in the silk and hiding him away from whatever _prying eyes_ he thinks likely to be lurking about in Soho around a bookshop, of all places at a quarter past three in the morning.

The angel was still pinked up to his ears.

The voice on the other end of the line had stalled out, and Crowley hung up.

“Better?” The demon asked, eyes glancing down to the bow Aziraphale had made of the ties.

“Yes,” Aziraphale huffed, “You were very rude to whoever that was.” He felt the need to point it out, but to be perfectly honest, he didn’t much care. Mostly because it _was_ uncommonly early, and anyone else _might’ve_ been sleeping. He hadn’t been, obviously, but still. Crowley had. The angel smoothed his hands up the wide lapels and up to his demon’s shoulders, tipping his face up expectantly. They were _just that close_ again when the phone rang.

Aziraphale let out a groan and snatched the phone before Crowley could get to it, “A. Z. Fell and Company, how can I help you?” He blinked stupidly at the receiver. That hadn’t been what he’d meant to say at all. He swatted at Crowley who had started snickering at his automatic response.

“Oh good.” The voice on the other end of the line wobbled a little in relief, but recovered well, “This is the Dominion Temeluch, and I was calling from the office of the Throne Pahaliah to talk to you about your vacation and to set up a time for us to meet and talk about the particulars of your previous workload that has been reassigned to other operatives covering your area for the foreseeable future.”

It was said all at once and with no pausing. It was a pleasant-enough voice, if a little rushed, but Aziraphale just stood there. Blankly. And perhaps for a beat too long.

“Hello?” The voice tried again, “Have I lost you? Ought I try the old-fashioned way? With the...light, and whatnot?”

“No, no, I’m here,” Aziraphale assured, not eager to have a beam of holy light in his shop again. Especially with Crowley here. “I just...what is it you wanted to do?”

“I…” The voice stalled out, sounding a little confused itself, “We need to meet?”

“We need to meet. About...my workload?”

“Yes.” The Dominion latched on to Aziraphale’s response and his assurity grew as he spoke, “Yes, about your workload. There are some particulars that need going over, and there’s some paperwork that needs to be signed. When would be a good time? I should warn you it will probably take two to three hours. Do you have time tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow, or Friday, or perhaps the- no wait, the day after that. We should leave off on the Sabbath.”

“Tomorrow _is_ Friday.”

“It- what?”

“Today is _Thursday._ Tomorrow is Friday.”

Crowley leaned in, “It’s half past three in the morning on a Thursday, you twa-”

Aziraphale put his hand over Crowley’s mouth rather than do the easy thing and just step back. _“Hush.”_

“Oh.” There were odd clanking, metallic sounds on the other end of the phone, “Oh I see. That’s. Well. Oh. I was looking at the whole thing upside down. I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright,” Aziraphale assured, not really feeling like it was. He rubbed his hand on his pajama pants and crinkled his nose at Crowley for licking his palm. “Tomorrow should be fine.”

“Would you prefer the morning? Or the afternoon?”

“Morning, I should think, to get it out of the way.”

“So long as it isn’t _three o’clock!”_

_“Crowley!”_ Aziraphale had his hand over the receiver, and took it off to apologize, but then thought better of it. “Ten o’clock tomorrow should suffice.”

“Oh. That’s- okay. Yes. Ten o’clock. See you then.”

“Toodle-oo!” Aziraphale hung the phone up to an incredulous look on Crowley’s face.

_“Toodle-oo?”_

“Oh, leave me be.” Aziraphale turned and prodded and shuffled the demon back the way they’d come towards the back of the shop, and up the stairs, “It’s back to bed with _you,_ Mr. Grumpy.”

“Three o’clock in the _morning,_ angel! Who’s awake, let alone making business calls at this ungodly hour?”

Aziraphale snorted, “I would argue that with two angels awake and a _demon_ asleep, it ought to be called an un-Satanly hour.”

Crowley groaned and flung himself face-first onto the bed.

* * *

“It’ll have to be the day after tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

Crowley could recognize, without seeing anything for himself, that Aziraphale was talking in his Sorry-Not-Sorry Customer Voice.

“We’ll be closed, tomorrow, you see - to do a bit of inventory. But it will be regular shop hours after tomorrow! That’s right. Come back Saturday.”

The bell jingled, and Crowley waited until he heard the lock click and the rattle of the sign against the glass before he slunk into sight, leaning against the door jamb.

“You should have just told them to come back Monday.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale whipped around and pulled down the little window curtain on the front door, hissing, “Why don’t you have any proper clothes on, you horrible little exibitionist? There could have been _customers.”_

Crowley’s grumbled _‘Not bloody likely’_ went largely ignored as Aziraphale cajoled him back into the back room and onto the sofa. The angel moved off to start water boiling for tea.

“And I didn’t say Monday because the shop keeps weekend hours.”

“Since when?”

“What?”

“Since when are you open on a Saturday, let alone a Sunday?”

“Well…” Aziraphale trailed off, trying to remember the last time he was, “Of course I am. Have been...at some point. Must’ve done. If, well, the weather wasn’t too cold or rainy out. Can’t have the wind blowing all that wet in.”

“So what? You mean you’d be open on a Saturday when it was sunny? And you’d be here. Talking to customers. Not out in the park people-watching and blessing little toddling children and feeding the ducks?” Crowley dug his shoulders into the back of the couch and nestled himself further in.

“Yes. Well. I _could_ be open if I wanted to.”

“Mmhmm.” Crowley closed his eyes and listened to the sound of clinking china and rattling spoons getting closer. “I believe you, angel.”

“Now - don’t go back to sleep. You just woke up!” Aziraphale set the tea service on the low table and perched himself on the loveseat next to Crowley, fussing and twitching the panels of his own housecoat closed over those long and sprawling legs. It was almost certainly a lost cause. But still. “And watch me open on Saturday, just for you saying I don’t.”

“Hmm. Suppose we can go see that new exhibit at the Museum next week.”

_“Oh,_ was that this weekend?”

Crowley had to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep from smiling.

“We can go any time, you know. Doesn’t have to be this Saturday.”

“Well…we _did_ already make plans - even if I’d forgotten. So. _Next_ Saturday.” Aziraphale picked up the teapot and poured, “Next Saturday I’ll stay open - you watch.”

“I’m watching, angel. I’m watching.”

* * *

It was three minutes until ten in the morning on a Friday, and there was an angel standing on the front stoop of the shop.

Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves once again standing in the middle of the shop, watching the front door. Aziraphale had gone ahead and made up a new sign that said “Closed Friday through Sunday for inventory” which Crowley thought was rather pointless, but the angel liked people to be informed, he supposed. And anyway, the shade was up again, as Crowley was clothed, and they could see the angel on the other side of the door, around the sign.

This angel was tall and thin, wearing Heaven’s dove grey slacks and vest with a light blue buttoned up shirt - no tie. He had a leather shoulder bag and a leather and silver watch that he kept checking. When he looked across the street over his shoulder, Crowley realized he had his hair long and tied back.

“Huh.” Crowley looked to the clock on the wall over the counter where the largely-useless till sat. “You gonna drag this one in too?”

“Oh I don’t think I dare.”

“What? Why?”

“Well if that’s the Dominion, well he- he rather _outranks_ me. Sort of.”

“How d’you mean ‘sort of’? How does someone ‘sort of’ outrank you?” Crowley leaned away and gave the angel an appraising look, “What sort of operation are they running up there nowadays?”

Before he could answer, there was a brisk knock on the front door.

Angel and demon looked over at the clock on the shop wall.

Ten o’clock exactly.

Crowley sighed and turned for the back room, even as Aziraphale walked to the front. He didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever weirdness _this one_ was going to be. “Yell if you need anything, angel!”

“Will do!” Aziraphale threw the reply over his shoulder even as he opened the front door with a jingle of the bell. “Hell-lo.” He greeted in sing-song tone, stepping aside for the other angel to enter.

The visiting angel stepped just inside the door and out of the way, letting his eyes wander a minute, before he looked back to Aziraphale. “Hello. I’m Temeluch.” He held out his hand a little stiff and awkwardly, “We spoke on the phone yesterday morning.”

Aziraphale stared a heartbeat too long before he managed to jolt himself into action and shake the Dominion’s hand, “Yes. Yes, of course. Um. I’m not exactly sure what it is you need. Here.”

“Oh.” Temeluch gripped the strap of his bag in both hands and looked down, shuffled his feet, and with a heaving sigh looked back up, “We need to go over your workload.”

“Yes...you said.” Aziraphale hopped in before the poor thing just repeated their whole phone conversation all over again, “I meant - do you need...a table? A chair? A desk?”

“Oh!” The Dominion gave a relieved chuckle, “Yes. Uh, you’ll need to read all the paperwork, and then, of course, you’ll need to sign it. Unless we need to make addendums or revisions or the like - so could need a desk. Or a table. Yes. And, of course, you know - chairs. For sitting.”

“Right.” Aziraphale wrung his hands, and gestured towards the back of the shop. The Dominion kept up, but seemed fascinated by everything - the stacks of books and shelves and manuscripts that had been framed. All of it taken in with a wondering eye. And so, because he didn’t look annoyed or put out, and because Aziraphale couldn’t seem to stop himself, he offered, “Tea?”

“Uh...sure?”

“Another one who’s never drank tea?” Crowley popped up next to the door and smirked as the visiting angel jolted himself right into the doorframe in shock.

_“Oh good Lord, you’re here.”_ Temeluch had one hand on his chest, and the other clutched onto the door jamb for support. “That’s- you’re- Crowley, right?” His eyes darted from Aziraphale to the demon.

“Yes!” Aziraphale held himself perfectly still. Dominions weren’t _soldiers_ per se, but that might not stop him doing something drastic. Like smiting his demon. Didn’t matter if the ethereal being was working from Pahaliah’s office or not. “Temeluch, Crowley. Crowley, Temeluch.”

_“Pleasssure.”_

The Dominion swallowed audibly, then, unbelievably, squared his shoulders and held out his hand. He stared at Crowley, unblinking, and pale as a sheet.

Crowley noted the tremble in his hand, shrugged, and shook it anyway. Soon as he let go, the Dominion dropped his hand and clutched at his bag again. The demon shared a disbelieving look with Aziraphale and flung himself into one of the armchairs.

“Er. Ah. Right.” Aziraphale quickly went to his desk and tidied a few things, clearing space down the middle for whatever it was he was meant to be reading. When he looked up, Temeluch had drug another chair up to the front side of the desk and looked ready to sit in it.

“Oh.”

“Is that-”

“No that’s fine, I-”

“I didn’t mean-”

“-thought you’d prefer-”

“Sorry.”

“Quite alright.” Aziraphale waved it off before they could dance around each other anymore with apologies. Also. Crowley was gawking. “I’ll just go and get the tea. Why don’t you get...set up.” He heard the telltale creak of wood and slither of clothes that meant the demon was following him. Aziraphale refused to turn around.

Water from the tap went into the kettle, which was then sat on the stove. The stove he should have had to put wood in to function. But really. Who had the time to track that down anymore? Wasn’t like there was a delivery service nowadays. At any rate, the range was working without it and the water was heating up nicely as Aziraphale steadfastly watched and did _not_ look over at Crowley.

“So he’s…”

_“Be nice.”_

“Nice, yeah.” Crowley leaned a hip on the counter of the kitchenette and tilted his head to look over the rim of his glasses at the angel. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

“You were not.” He couldn’t help it. Aziraphale looked over, and there it was. That snarking smile. He sighed. _“Be_ nice.”

“Nice isn’t exactly in the job description, angel.” Crowley nudged his glasses back into place where they’d slid and turned to lean back on the counter, arms crossed. “But I’ll tell you what - if you don’t mind, I’ll just pop out for a bit. Maybe see if there’s a spot open at that Greek place you like for dinner tonight.”

“Oh. Hmm.” Aziraphale smiled, delighted, “Yes. That’d be _wonderful.”_ He lifted the kettle off as it started to whistle and moved over to pour it in the pot. “I think we’ll be quite alright here. He said it would only take two or three hours, but you never can tell with these things. You might as well go and enjoy the day instead of being cooped up here.”

“Mm.” Crowley nodded and stepped up next to the angel, leaning in expectantly. Aziraphale turned his face up absently, eyes still on the task of getting the tea done up, and the demon pecked a kiss on his lips.

Sauntering vaguely through the back room, Crowley passed by the other angel without getting so much as a glance. He was shoulder deep in paperwork, with his nose pressed to some ledger, comparing it to some printed sheets. Crowley shook his head and left, locking the door behind him. If there was one thing he was glad of hell it's that they had at least half the paperwork.

* * *

By the time Crowley came back, it’s late. Well. It’s well past closing time for the bookshop, which doesn’t equate to ‘late’ on any scale the demon possesses, but it’s past time for visitors for the angel. Which just makes it all the more odd that the strange angel - Timmy, or whatever - is only just now leaving. They catch eyes for just a minute, and the angel seems just as scared as he had in the shop. _Weird._

Crowley nodded as he passed then hopped up the steps and joined Aziraphale on the stoop, “Two or three hours, eh?”

“Well.” Aziraphale shrugged and watched the Dominion look both ways before crossing the street, “We got a little...sidetracked, as it were.”

“Sidetracked.”

“Yes. He...well, he wanted to hear about the apocalypse, and- and- everything we’d done.”

“You didn’t tell him-”

“What do you take me for? Of _course_ not.” Aziraphale sniffed and fussed with the hem of his waistcoat.

“Alright, alright. Just. Talk for five hours might leave you sort of chummy with him, is all.”

“Well, to be honest he was perfectly charming.”

“Charming,” Crowley repeated flatly.

“Are you going to repeat me all evening?”

Crowley shrugged, “Might do. But look-” The demon touched the angel’s elbow, “Lock up and let’s go get dinner - you can tell me all about your _perfectly charming_ angel over dolmadaki.”

_“Well he’s not my anything,”_ Aziraphale grumbled, snapping to lock the shop up, “But he _was_ charming. He’s going to come back and have a go at eating, actually.” The angel started down the steps towards the Bentley, "He's going to go off and try _coffee_ of all things before he leaves." Aziraphale stopped, his hand in midair, when Crowley opened the door for him, “Oh, thank-you, dearest.”

“Mm.”

“Sorry.” Came the automatic apology. Apocalypse or no, own sides or no, Crowley still didn’t particularly like being thanked. Aziraphale _tried_ to remember, “Anyway, you’re welcome to come with us, we’re going to that deli with the nice soup.” Aziraphale then hopefully added, “They’ve got those orange-y pastry things you like.”

“Mm,” Crowley looked off down the street, thinking about it. Maybe. Probably not. The angel’s expression was falling. He gestured for Aziraphale to actually get in the car, before he asked, “When?”

Aziraphale beamed happily, “Oh - in a week. Next Saturday, actually.”

Crowley grinned, “I’d love to, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was five thirty in the afternoon on a Saturday, and the author well and truly wanted to add a coffee angel.
> 
> Funfact: Saint Drogo of Sebourg is the patron saint of coffee. (According to the internet)


	4. Closed on Wednesdays

Crowley had really,  _ really _ been looking forward to an angel-free week.

Well. Free of all but certain angels. One, angel, actually. Everyone but Aziraphale, if he was going to be honest. But, honestly, he didn’t make a habit of it. Crowley was looking forward to a week full of mortals to scare off for Aziraphale and cakes to procure for Aziraphale and lounging around in Aziraphale’s presence  _ without _ any ethereal interlopers. They were  _ supposed _ to have a whole week.

The young, over-eager angel that spit up his tea stopped by two weeks ago. Crowley couldn’t help but think he might have been how Gabriel was when he was younger. Were angels ever  _ younger? _ More new, then. He’d shared this thought with Aziraphale, but was  _ not _ expecting the, ‘Oh good lord, I hope not - we can’t have  _ two _ of them running around’ he got in response. But he fully agreed. Gabriel was still a wanker. Little though he was doing any  _ running around  _ now.

Crowley was all set to let the two of them go off and twitter amongst themselves, but found he was drug along anyway. Well. Pressed into service more like - it was drizzling and Aziraphale begged use of the Bentley. And then, well, he didn’t want the stupid little visiting angel to think he was Aziraphale’s  _ chauffeur, _ so he invited himself the rest of the way. It was a  _ trial _ not to laugh as his angel had to coach the other all the way through lunch. But he’d made it.

And he’d made it through the lunch date with the paperwork angel that had come by, all nerves and starched shirts. He hadn’t really wanted to go to that one, either, but the look in Aziraphale’s eyes said ‘please don’t leave me alone with him’, and so he went. Luckily enough, they didn’t have to coach him on silverware. Sadly (for Aziraphale) he didn’t actually much care for anything he tried. He did like soup, though. And he  _ loved _ coffee. Crowley could get behind that. Coffee was actually one of the more palatable non-liquor drinks.

In the end, Crowley decided that one wasn’t half bad. The fact this particular angel was afraid of him had nothing to do with Crowley’s sudden enjoyment of his company, no sir.

But all of that was in the past, and besides the point...besides. The  _ point  _ was that Crowley had suffered through two lunches with two insufferable angels, and he was looking forward to a  _ whole week _ of Aziraphale all to himself before they met back up with the Throne (who wasn’t near as terrible as the other two, but was still - you know - an  _ angel), _ when he was waylaid by a young woman just outside the bookshop.

She had that sense of  _ supernatural _ about her, and Crowley wasted literally no time in looking at her, talking to her, or even remotely acknowledging her.

He simply walked inside the shop and locked the door behind him.

Aziraphale looked up from his shop desk, blinking, “Did you just lock the door?”

“Might’ve.”

“Bit early for that.”

Crowley shrugged and moseyed his way to lean against the desk. “There’s another one outside.”

Aziraphale sighed wearily and took off his glasses. He was getting ready to get up and go see about who it was or what  _ this one _ wanted, when the shop’s bell jingled and the door swung open.

It was a petite, brunette woman in a flouncy sort of blue day dress and, from what Aziraphale could tell, a hat and shoes made out of...straw? A straw hat and odd, elevated straw sandals. He felt forever doomed to misunderstand fashion trends. It wasn’t actually terrible, though, and he could readily admit he’d seen worse.

“Hello! How can I-” Aziraphale squeaked to a stop as she turned to face him. Her eyes glowed an unnatural electric sort of blue, and her teeth were a little too sharp, and that  _ wasn’t _ a feeling of love pouring off of her, but something decidedly concentrated towards an organ a bit further south than the heart.

But before he could do anything so stupid as to just shout the word ‘DEMON’ in her face, Crowley was already across the shop and right in front of her. Azirapahle could see the deepening dark of his wings as they shimmered, ready to bleed into this reality should he let them.

_ “Why are you here, you little rat?” _ Crowley snarled, and the demoness squeaked, and stumbled back into the door with a rattle of wood and glass.

“Ha!” She huffed a startled noise instead of a word. But she pushed her shoulders back and stuck out her chin and said - in a very American accent, “You’ll get the both of us in a lot of trouble if you do anything to me, you know.”

_ “What makesss you think I care?” _

“Because if you discorporate me, you won’t know what I know.” She waited, but when Crowley wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a response, she continued, “I know what they’re planning.” Her eyes flicked to where Aziraphale would be, if she could actually see past Crowley, “About him.”

“And what,” Crowley snarked, “You just skipped ‘cross the pond to tell me? Out of the  _ kindness _ of your heart?”

The demoness seemed to melt right into a saccharine smile, humming in a pleased, throaty way, “That’s right, talk  _ dirty _ to me.”

“Eugh!” Crowley lurched back before he realized what he was doing, but it was too late. She was laughing. Hard to be intimidating at this point.

Her laughter died off, and she answered Crowley’s hanging question, “Yes.” She gave him a quick up-and-down appraising look, stepping forward and then starting a wide circle, “I did come here just to tell you.” She tipped her head and smiled with beautiful, white, still-too-sharp teeth.

Crowley side stepped and made an effort to remain mostly between the other denizen of hell and Aziraphale. She wasn’t a very powerful demon, but he didn’t want her anywhere near his angel anyway.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished, with exactly no heat behind it. He came ‘round his desk and stood, well, mostly behind the demon, as he could tell it was important to Crowley. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Can’t.”

“Whyever not?”

“Don’t know ‘er.”

“Don’t know-” Aziraphale flustered, “That’s- who  _ are _ you?”

She gave that same slow smile, with a sweep of her eyes over Aziraphale’s jacket and vest and even down to his shoes and back up, “Brooke Davis. At least, I am this decade.”

She took her hat off and ran her hand through her hair. Aziraphale wondered if she’d had to do a miracle (anti-miracle?) to get it to fall just perfect in waves and ringlets like that. Probably.

Brooke gave a hum of disappointment, “You really are terribly in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Me?” The angel asked, “Well all angels are-” He stopped himself. It was time to stop that sort of automatic response. “Yes. I am, rather."

Aziraphale took no small amount of pride in the slight blush that declaration had produced in the demon at his side, when he hazarded a quick glance. "You can...tell? I thought demons…” He trailed off, hoping she’d know what he was getting at, without him having to say it and pour salt in any wounds.

“You’re right,” She confirmed, “We can’t. But unlike Crowley, I never could. Don’t need it. I can sense lust. And there’s none here. Well,” She smiled, eyes darting to Crowley and back, “None directed at  _ me, _ anyway. And there’s very few reasons why that would be.”

“You’re not exactly his type, even if he weren’t,” Crowley informed ‘Brooke’. He’s about two seconds from running her off. She still hadn’t said anything useful.

“Maybe not in  _ this _ configuration,” Brooke agreed, gesturing down the length of herself, “But give me a minute and I can change to suit.” She put a hand on her cocked out hip. “The newer corporations can be altered a little. Eyes, hair, face shape, body type - you name it. Nothing too far off base model - just little tweaks here and there - but really,” She shrugged, “Change Efforts and lose the tits, and I’m a pretty cute boy too.” She winked at Aziraphale.

Crowley growled.  _ Actually _ growled, and was interrupted moving forward to do who-knows-what by the jingle of the shop door.

“There you are!” Came the exasperated but relieved exclamation by a young man, looking only at the demoness as he entered the shop, not bothering with the door behind him.

He was wearing black jeans and boots and what Crowley, at least, recognized as a very American baseball hat and shirt. Or was it called a jersey, maybe? He knew very little about sports these days.

“Here I am!” Brooke threw up her hands, striking a pose, before she gestured with her hat to Aziraphale and Crowley, “And here they are, too!”

He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned. Both angel and demon had front row seats to the slow march of shock-horror-anger-betrayal that went across the man’s face.

The man whipped back around to yell at the demoness, “You  _ said  _ we weren’t gonna go! You  _ said _ they weren’t even in this city!”

“Did I?” Brooke’s voice went high and girlish, “Oops.” She shrugged, dropping her voice back down to normal, “Guess I lied.  _ De-mon!” _

The man groaned, hands on his hips, and let his head tip all the way back. He rolled his head on his shoulders and looked at the two, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Aziraphale responded.

Crowley said nothing, but narrowed his eyes.

The man sighed and rubbed at his forehead, “We weren’t supposed to come here. Pahaliah sent the note around about not bothering you, and I’d  _ planned _ to listen. Honestly. I was  _ trying _ to be drunk in a pub.”

Aziraphale couldn’t decide if he was more shocked that the man was an angel, or that he was American.

“Sorry.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, “I’m Xathenael upstairs, but I go by Andy among the humans. Archangel of the American Midwest region.”

Aziraphale shook his hand on autopilot, blinking several times until he could manage, “Aziraphale. But...I feel like you know that already.”

“Yeah.” Andy nodded. “We were told  _ specifically-” _ He turns to glare at the demoness for a moment, “-not to come here and bug you.”

“Then  _ you _ should’ve stayed outside,” Brooke quipped, “That memo wasn’t addressed to me, darling. I know I’m heavenly in bed, but I’m not  _ actually _ an angel.”

Andy sighed, hands back on his hips. He was clearly trying very hard to just ignore her, and explain himself to Aziraphale. “It’s just...the Apocalypse was averted, and I’d never really  _ been _ anywhere - well, not outside America at least. And I guess Canada. But that doesn’t really count. Anyway, I kept tellin’ myself I was gonna see Ireland someday.”

“Ah. I see.” Aziraphale did not. “It’s just- well I do hate to tell you this, Andrew, but this...this isn’t Ireland.”

Crowley found himself, without his own permission, sharing an amused look with the other demon when Andy cringed at the use of the long form of his name.

“Yeah,” Andy nodded again, “I know. But...I wanted to go to Ireland for the pubs, and she-” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “Wanted to come to England -  _ she told me _ \- for the gin.”

“Well there  _ are _ six or seven gin bars I want to hit while I’m here, sure.” Brooke giggled, “I still can’t believe you fell for it.”

Andy just shook his head.

“So wait,” Crowley interjected, pointing at the ground, “The two of you came here together.” It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t confused. Well. He wasn’t confused on that point. He was confused as to why they’d done it or how they’d managed it.

“Of course!” Brooke chirped. “As my particular Adversary was leaving my operating area on extended vacation - which I learned through excellent spying and underhanded means-”

“You bought the tickets and packed my bags.”

“I decided it was safe to-” Here she gave Crowley a lingering once-over, “Check on Hell’s little problem child. You know. Do some reconnaissance for Home Office.” She tucked her chin and tilted her head, playing coy, “Like the good little soldier I am.”

Crowley scoffed and snarled a lip in her direction.

Brooke laughed and grinned happily, “They can’t prove otherwise.”

“And...you…?” Aziraphale turned to Andy.

“Oh, uh,” Andy looked away and stalled. Taking off his baseball cap, he scratched at the top of his head before replacing the cap snugly. “I heard - through heavenly agents and means-”

“When we talked on the phone.”

“-that my Adversary was planning a trip overseas. And I decided to follow, in case the local agents had problems with her...wiles. Since I knew the local Principality was on leave.” He sniffed and found something on the floor very interesting.

The four of them stood there in the shop. Silent. The two older entities thinking about how horrifyingly easy the younger two made it sound to subvert everything they’d been trying to avoid and tiptoe around for millenia. The younger two were - unbeknownst to each other - both waiting for their respective entities to be proud of them.

In the middle of this silence, there was a knock on the open shop door. An older man had stopped just inside the threshold, eyes darting back and forth between the four of them standing just in his way.

Oh Aziraphale didn’t have time for this. “I’m  _ so _ sorry,” He started forward, and turned the man by his elbow, ushering him back to the door, “But I’m going to have to close up early today.”

“It’s not even gone ten!”

“Yes, I know, I know. Nasty business.” Aziraphale threw a look over his shoulder, then whispered to the man as he all but threw him out, “American cousins. Sorry again.” Louder, he added, “We’ll be closed the rest of the day.”

Aziraphale turned the shop’s sign to CLOSED and turned back to the room at large, “Well.” He clapped his hands together and wrung them.

“Drink, then?” Crowley suggested.

“It’s not even gone ten,” Aziraphale repeated the man’s words, faintly.

“Does it matter?” 

“Is that important?”

The two demons startled and looked at each other. Brooke laughed, even as Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Brooke’s laughter died quick, and she gave the demon an assessing look.  _ “My,” _ she breathed, “What a terribly classist thing you are, Anthony J. Crowley.”

“Classist!”

“Well I don’t know what else you’d call it.” Brooke waved the hand holding her hat and scoffed.

_ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  _ The demon grumbled.

“I think you do.” Brooke put one hand on her hip and jabbed her hat in his general direction, “You’ve done nothing but snarl and sneer at me since I got here. You think that just because you’re a fallen angel that makes you  _ better than me? _ You think that just because I work for the lowest ranked Prince of Hell, that makes me something you can keep turning your nose up at?”

“What I  _ think _ is you’ve ruined a perfectly good afternoon.” Crowley  _ snarled _ in response, being sure to give the girl his best  _ sneer. _

Brooke stepped up to Crowley, leaning in and managing to somehow get in the demon’s face, no matter her lack of height, “Well let me tell you something,  _ Crawly, _ it may have taken me a couple of decades to realize what I wanted, but once I did, it certainly didn’t take me  _ six thousand years _ to find a way to get it! So I don’t think I’ll be taking guff from the likes of you.”

Brooke jammed her hat back on her head and nodded decisively. She turned and snatched up Andy by the arm and marched him to the door. She pulled it open, roughly, and turned to address Crowley over her shoulder, “If you want to know what Hell has planned for your little angel, you’ll have to apologize to me first. We’re staying at the Ritz.”

“We are?” Andy asked.

_ “We are now,” _ Brooke growled, then, to Aziraphale, she brightened and spoke in a sweet tone, “Nice to meet you, lovely shop. Gotta run! Bye!”

“I-okay- alright, woman! Let go!” Andy sputtered, but didn’t seem to be actually fighting the pull out of the shop. He called back his goodbye even as the little demoness dragged him down the street.

Aziraphale and Crowley ended up on the front porch, watching them walk and bicker down the street until they turned out of sight.

“What in the  _ world _ was that about, Crowley?”

Crowley snorted and went back inside. He could hear Aziraphale bustling in after him, locking the shop up. He stopped, turned, paced, crossed his arms. Uncrossed his arms. Gave a groan of frustration. Crossed his arms again.

“I’m not apologizing.”

“You will,” Aziraphale patted him on the arm as he walked by.

“I don’t  _ want _ to apologize to the little-”

_ “You will though!” _ Came the sing-song reply from deeper in the shop.

“What are you doing?” Crowley peeked his head into the back room, only to hop out of the way.

“Finishing work on that book.”

“Aren’t you going to- shouldn’t- ...what?”

Aziraphale sat the little box of supplies down on his front counter, took a deep breath, and turned around. He straightened his vest and fussed with the hem of it for a moment before he began.

“Look. I’m not going to pretend to understand the- the-  _ nuances _ of everything I just witnessed there.”

Crowley grunted.

“But apart from being a demon, she really did seem a pleasant girl, and you were terribly rude to her.”

“She’s a demon! A  _ human _ demon.”

“I really don’t see why that matters.” Aziraphale turned and started unloading the box.

“Don’t see why-!” Crowley scoffed, threw up his arms, did a quick circuit of a pace, and came back, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it sounds like, Crowley. I don’t see why it matters.  _ You’re _ a demon and I like you very well.”

Crowley drew back, confused and blinking.

When Aziraphale looked up, he hastened to say, “I’m not saying I have any real  _ affection _ for the girl, Crowley, we only just met today! But, now, look here: You like Lilah well enough, don’t you?” When Crowley didn’t answer, Aziraphale huffed and stepped up into the demon’s space,  _ “Don’t _ you like her?”

“Well…” Crowley threw his hands up, “Yeah, alright. She’s fine.”

“Okay, so. You don’t see me getting upset that you like another angel. You’re  _ allowed _ to like whoever you like, Crowley. I’d appreciate being afforded the same luxury.”

“So- what? You want to be friends with the little harlot now?”

“How would I know, Crowley?” Aziraphale exclaimed, shaking his head and going back behind the counter, “You ran her out of here before I could be sure one way other the other. And don’t call her a harlot.”

_ “It’s what she does,” _ Crowley scoffed, then added,  _ “I _ ran her out?”

“Yes, and I think it's rather big of you to admit it. Good job, darling.”

“You-” Crowley deflated, willing the smirking smile to stay off his face. “You’re impossible.”

Aziraphale only looked up at him with a smile, those adorable little glasses perched on his nose. He looked back down at his work, and asked, “You  _ will _ apologize though, yes?”

“Satan’s sake,” Crowley breathed, “I’ll...maybe.” Crowley walked over and leaned on the counter. “I doubt she actually knows anything of use. She is a lust demon, after all.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, but more to indicate he was listening, as he sharpened a blade for cutting away a cover. “What’s that lust thing all about?”

“Well,” Crowley purred, sliding closer, “You’ve already closed the shop. Leave this, and I’ll show you.”

“Crowley!  _ You know what I meant!” _

Crowley chuckled and moved himself out of swatting range, “You know the Seven Princes of Heaven, yeah? Well, there’s Seven Kings of Hell.”

“Matching.”

“Hell’s funny that way. Then the Dukes are under them, then the rest of us under those twats.” Crowley shrugged and leaned his elbows against the counter, “You remember what name you guessed when I told you I’d changed my name?”

“Mm?”

“Asmodeus.”

“I remember,” Aziraphale confirmed, bending his head to his task.

“King of Hell-” Crowley leaned close, and waited until Aziraphale had stopped moving,  _ “King of Lust.” _

“Is he?”

Aziraphale was trying to sound nonchalant, but the fact his voice was about two octaves too high betrayed him. Crowley grinned, “You knew.”

“No. Maybe. I definitely just picked a name at random.”

Crowley spent another moment studying the side of Aziraphale’s face. Watched how he paused there with bated breath. Or, rather, wasn’t breathing.

“You knew!” Crowley crowed, “You knew - you knew, and you thought I’d call myself the King of Lust.” The demon tilted his head, “Now why is  _ that, _ angel?”

“Crowley, you’re…”

“Yes?”

“You’re in my light.”

Crowley chuckled and moved to the other side of his angel, passing behind him, with trailing fingers across his shoulders.

“Better?”

“Mm.”

“Now where was I?”

“Talking about Hell’s hierarchy.”

Crowley snorted and decided to let it go. There was always later, “Alright, then, angel. Hierarchies. You’ve already reminded me about Heaven’s - three tiers, three categories in each tier, seven Princes. Well, Hell is mostly just divided by seven. Each King has their  _ deadly sin _ and their own people. Everything below that is politics and favor. But! The Kings are ranked - Satan or Lucifer’s the highest, Asmodeus is lowest.”

“Where does Beezlebub fall on this scale?”

“They’re second.”

“And what is their...sin?”

“Envy.” Crowley pushed himself upright and started to walk lazy circuits around the shop floor, reciting the hierarchy from memory, “Lucifer is Pride, Beelze’s Envy, then Azazel with Wrath, Abaddon with Sloth, Mammon with Greed-”

“Ooh!” Aziraphale interrupted, “I knew that one, too.”

“Mm, lot of it going about, I suppose. Let’s see...Mammon is fifth with Greed, then Belph- Belph-er…” Crowley snapped, trying to make himself remember the name, then exclaimed when he did, “Belphegor! Belphegor is sixth with Gluttony - I never see him - then Asmodeus is last and lowest with Lust.”

Aziraphale slowly looked up, taking off his glasses and holding them in one hand. He gave Crowley a searching sort of look, then asked, “Who’s...what...are you separate from them? Or no?”

Crowley regretted, just for a moment, taking his shades off. Aziraphale had always said he liked the look of his eyes, but Crowley didn’t really care for the careful way the Angel was looking at him. He shook his head, “All the fallen angels are under Lucifer.  _ Pride goeth _ and all that.” He widened his great yellow eyes and then smiled.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale mused, “I wouldn’t have thought that.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Well...you’re not exactly very  _ prideful, _ are you? Oh, except, I suppose about your appearance-”

_ “Angel.” _

“Or the Bentley, or your flat-”

“Aziraphale!”

The angel chuckled and got up from his seat, “Alright. Sorry.”

“Mm.”

“There now!” Aziraphale came to stand very close, and put his hands on Crowley’s hips, “That didn’t sound difficult did it?”

“What?” Crowley, despite his intentions to stay cross-armed and aloof, found himself unwinding his arms from around himself and winding them over Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Well. I just apologized, didn’t I?”

“Yes?”

“So just go and say that to Brooke.”

Crowley groaned, “Impossible, impossible angel.”

“You love me anyway,” Aziraphale tugged on the hem of Crowley’s vest and tipped his head up in invitation.

“‘Spose I do,” Crowley agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to the angel’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first guest demon! And Americans! Exciting. Maybe? Who knows.
> 
> A plot! More exciting. :D


	5. Closed on Thursdays

“Do I _really_ have to do this?”

“No, of course not, dear.”

“Good.”

“We’ll just take on whatever Hell throws at us _as_ they throw it at us. Who needs warnings or pre-planning? Certainly not us. We’ve never really had much in the way of plans.”

Crowley sighed.

“Besides,” Aziraphale added, looking in the side-view mirror as he often did before Crowley backed the Bentley out of anywhere, knowing full well they weren’t actually leaving. “I trust you to do everything in your power to keep me safe just as you should trust _me_ to do everything in my power to keep _you_ safe, dearest.”

“Not. Fair.” Crowley wasn’t whinging. He didn’t whine. He did, however, rest his forehead on the wheel. Twice. Aggressively. He was complaining at worst. At worst. This was not whinging. “Not fair.”

“Oh darling.” Aziraphale patted the demon on the shoulder then fiddled with getting the safety belt off, “Whoever said I had to play fair?”

* * *

The fact that Aziraphale was standing next to him was the only reason Crowley was still waiting for someone to answer the door that he’d knocked on. That and he’d had to suffer the indignity of asking for the room number from the concierge. And he’d had to walk across a lawn to get to the Wimbourne House. Talk to another set of staff. Cross the great, echoing marble entryway, climb the gilded stair, and knock.

The door opened to the blinking, somewhat startled-looking face of the Angel in the baseball cap. Which he still had on. Different jersey today though.

Andy’s eyes slid from Crowley to the Angel standing slightly behind him, “Hello - uh, Aziraphale - come in.” Andy moved aside, and gestured, well, the both of them in. “Good to see...you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Actually,” Aziraphale ushered Crowley further into the room, “Crowley is here to see Brooke. Is she in?”

Andy dithered for a moment, then with a look of concentration said, “My adversary’s somewhere around here,” He grinned, “Don’t worry though, boss - she won’t be getting up to trouble under my watch.”

“Good lad.” Aziraphale praised, looking up at the ceiling and around at all the fixtures as he wandered a bit further in.

“Tour?” Andy asked, shutting the door.

“Even better.” Aziraphale smiled as the other Angel gestured for him to follow, and then led the way towards one side of the suite. “Ooh, isn’t this charming?”

Crowley loitered, listening to the exclamations of his angel at each new blasted pillow or ridiculous set of drapery. Bored sooner rather than later, he walked in the opposite direction, and found Brooke in one of the bedrooms.

She had a fluffy maroon towel wrapped around her body and a green one in her hair and was deep in contemplation of four dresses laid out on the bed. She didn’t even look up when Crowley wandered in, but he could tell she knew he was there. She crossed her arms and huffed in annoyance.

“You any good with dresses?” She asked, still looking at the bed.

“Worn one a time or two,” Crowley admitted, perusing the room as he wandered in.

Brooke turned and raised an eyebrow at him, “Suppose I should’ve asked ‘you any good at picking them’. You could have terrible fashion taste for a woman, how would I know? I’ve only seen this.” She gestured at the length of him with one hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh no, I like it,” She flapped her hand and turned back to the dresses, “Black’s always in fashion. And this understated classic-with-a-touch-of-hipster-chic thing you’ve got going on is working for you. But that doesn’t mean you know womens’ fashion.”

“Point,” He allowed, coming to stand next to her. They stood there in silence, staring at the dresses. How the hells was he meant to do this? Just. ‘Sorry’? Why did Aziraphale have to make it look so easy? This was terrible. He’d honestly rather cut off his own hand right now. He wasn’t even sorry! What was he even apologizing for in the first place? Everyone in hell was nasty to each other. The whole thing was a rank-pulling-pissing-contest! Fuck, but this was terrible.

“Have you got black gloves or a gold belt?”

Brooke looked up at him in askance.

“Black gloves,” Crowley pointed to the first dress, “Gold belt,” and pointed to the third.

“Oh...oh! Let me check!” She hopped a little in place then dashed into the walk-in closet. There were things tossed about and dropped and sworn at, and then she came back out and put both things with the two dresses, flinging the other two dresses across the room. The maroon towel was making a break for it, and she rustled it back up.

“Now which have you got shoes and a handbag for?”

“Ooh, good point.” Brooke looked a minute longer, then pushed one of the dresses away and admired the other. “I’ll take it.”

“What?”

Brooke smiled up at him, “I can _feel_ you standing next to me, working yourself up, you emotionally constipated little thing. I’ll take your help as an apology is what I mean.”

“Oh thank- ...someone.”

“If!” Brooke put a finger up, then poked Crowley in the arm with it, “If you answer one question for me.”

Crowley shrugged, “Go on.”

“Is it all apologies you have a problem with,” Brooke put her hands on her hips, “-or just apologizing to me?”

Crowley sighed, and gripped his elbows. He looked away to avoid looking at the little demon when he said, “All of ‘em.”

“Can’t even say the word!” She crowed, “You need therapy.” When he scoffed, she pushed, “I’m serious. Therapy is very useful. It’s one of the _good_ things people have done. That and dancing.”

The older demon just looked down at her over those dark little sunglasses, that she realized, just that moment, had to be very dark indeed to hide those bright, bright sunny eyes.

Brooke shrugged and walked towards the little sitting area in the bedroom, “Look, say what you will, it’s helped me.”

_“You_ went to therapy.”

“You say that like it’s an impossible task, or that I’m….what? Too good for it? Too bad for it?” Brook sat down in one of the two armchairs and unwound the towel from her hair, “You’re straying dangerously close into needing another apology, demon.”

Crowley put his hands up in surrender and slid into the other chair, “No, no. I just...it- you surprised me is all.” He took the topper off the decanter of liquid and found it to be a nice enough brandy. He poured himself a couple of fingers. He was going to need it if they were going to keep down this track. At the demoness’ pointed look, he poured for her too.

“Mm.” Brooke took a lingering sip of her drink and said, “Look, all I’ll say about it is this: So far, what therapy has taught me is that it doesn’t matter who signs my infernal check at the end of the day, what matters is what I _do.”_ She pinned Crowely with a look, “God, Satan, the Archangels, the Dukes - the worst they can do is punish us. Punishments end.”

“Unless they kill us.”

Brooke tilted her head, “How you gonna know if you’re dead? If they smite you out of existence, you don’t really need to worry about punishment or pain, do you?”

He hadn’t really thought about it like that. If Crowley was being honest, he was too worried about the punishment leading up to that bit. He shrugged in answer.

“I’m just saying, that at the end of the day-” She tapped the brandy glass to her chest, “-I live in here. All the time. If I do something I regret, I have to live with it - every. Goddamn. Day.” She chuckled, “Until someone smites me out of existence, at least. So I’m going to do whatever I can live with, and if that’s not good enough for- for- _whoever,_ then they can come smite me and try to do my job, too.” Brooke nodded, as if in confirmation, then slugged back the whole of her drink.

Crowley had no idea what to say to that. The whole philosophy was so foreign to him. He glanced to the door. He and Aziraphale had lived in _fear_ of being smited _constantly_ and here was this little demon - this very _human_ demon - saying, what? Exactly? Come take me if you don’t like it? If you think you can do better? _Terrifying._ He slammed down the rest of his drink too.

Brooke reached for the decanter when she saw the demon’s hand shake a little as he returned the glass to the table. Best not to linger. “Anyway,” She started as she poured, “You apologized - more or less - so I’ll tell you what I know. If- ...you still _want_ to know?”

Crowley glared.

“Just making sure,” Brooke smiled, then took a slow sip of her drink, “Now, granted, I don’t know everything. But I _do_ know there’s a plot, and I know what they’re planning on doing - the basic outline, anyway - even if I don’t know the specifics.”

“Well what good-”

“Without _me,_ you wouldn’t have known there was a plan at _all,_ now would you?”

Crowley sighed and gestured for her to continue.

“I overheard a conversation between one the Dukes and his patsy - and before you ask-” Brooke headed off the interruption at the pass, “-I wasn’t in direct line of sight, so I don’t know which one. Not one of Asmodeus’ or Mammon’s, though, cause I would’ve recognized them by voice alone.”

“Anyway - they were talking about how the minion had located the humans they needed.”

“Humans?”

“Yes. Witches or something. You ever heard of a true-name summoning? Because they’ve got your angel’s name.”

_“That’s_ what they’re doing?”

“Yes, and-”

“And they just talked about this? Laid out all their plans for you to neatly relay?”

“That’s-”

“You didn’t think maybe they knew you were there?” Crowley groaned in frustration and stood up, “This is probably more a trap than anything.”

Brooke was on her feet the next moment, “That’s not what-”

“I should’ve known better than to-”

“If you would just-!”

“-trust a lust demon to-”

“OH MY GOD, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Aziraphale and Andy stopped, frozen in the doorway at the tableau in front of them, and the words just screamed at the top of the demoness’ lungs.

Crowley was leaning back, drink long forgotten as the snifter in his slack hand fell to the plush carpet below.

Brooke was red-skinned - literally - and steaming slightly, the moisture wicking out of her hair and turning it into a frizzy mess. The carpet at her feet started to smoke. Before it caught fire.

“Brooke-” Andy started cautiously.

“WHAT!?” She turned on him, sharp teeth bared.

“You’re burning the carpet.”

She looked down, “Fuck!” The heat went out of her in a heartbeat, and the next second she was on the floor, patting the area down to put out the flames. She got her face down close to miracle it back to rights, making sure there was no discoloration as she ran her hand over the plush flooring. Once satisfied, she glared up at Crowley, her eyes flashing electric blue.

“What’s going on in here?” Aziraphale asked, walking further in. When neither demon answered, he prompted, “Crowley?”

“Her ‘information’-” And everyone could hear the quotes around the word, “-turns out to be nothing more than a trap.”

“It is not!” Brooke popped upright and was stamping her foot, “If you’d actually _listen_ to me-”

“There’s no way they-”

“Alright, _alright.”_ Aziraphale rolled right over both of them, standing more in the middle and holding his hands out, “Unless we want a repeat of the carpet-burning incident, I suggest everyone just _calm down.”_ He watched as both demons crossed their arms and turned away. Catching eyes with Andy, he smiled as the younger Angel rolled his eyes and moved to clean up the spilled liquor.

“Alright. Okay.” Aziraphale placated some more, “Why don’t we all take a calming breath and try to work this out. Now, Brooke-” He waited until she looked at him, “What were you trying to say?”

“I just-”

“She didn’t-”

_“Anthony.”_ Aziraphale scolded, and was surprised how well that worked to abash the demon. “You will have your turn in a minute. Brooke, please go on.”

“What I was _trying_ to say is that I overheard this Duke and his minion talking about getting the right humans for the job.” She turned to look at Aziraphale, “True-name summoning.”

“Oh dear.”

“And they never said the name of the humans, but the lackey did say that they’d successfully summoned a demon with _their_ true name. The Duke asked if the humans had killed him, and the lackey said they hadn’t, and they mentioned the demon by name. That’s all I overheard them say.”

“But you said-” Crowley stopped when he noticed Aziraphale staring. But it was a valid question this time, and not a criticism, so he powered on, “But you said they had Aziraphale’s name.”

_“Yes,”_ Brooke gritted, “But I didn’t say I heard it from _them._ I _am_ capable of confirming facts, you know. Gossip is fun, but just because you hear something doesn’t make it true.”

“So what else did you find out, dear?” Aziraphale prompted again, after it seemed the two demons were trying to stare each other down. He shared another long-suffering look with Andy as the lad went to pour the liquor he’d miracled out of the carpet into the adjoining bathroom sink.

“So after overhearing that, I did some snooping. Honestly, I didn’t even know who it was about at first.” Brooke shrugged, “All I knew was that some Duke was getting humans to summon demons for some reason, and like, let’s be real here - I thought about myself first.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Aziraphale allowed, smiling.

“So I found the demon they talked about, and I asked him all about what happened. He told me that he’d just been minding his business and showed up on Earth, trapped by a sigil on the floor. He remembers the humans talking about how he was a trial run for something bigger. They tested to make sure he couldn’t get out of the trap, and then they sent him back.”

“That’s it?”

“God above and Satan below!” Brooke stomped her foot again, skin turning ruddy again, “Have you no patience!?”

“That’s-” Aziraphale butted in and swooped across the room, snatching up the decanter of brandy, “Why don’t we all go sit down in the lounge-” Here he took Crowley by the elbow to steer him, “You can have a drink,” He nodded at Andy to get Brooke, “And we can get this whole story sorted out.”

Grumbling, but letting himself be led, Crowley moved into the lavishly appointed sitting room. Before he could flop himself into a chair, Aziraphale tugged him towards the loveseat and slotted them both in snugly. He wanted to say something about this, but his angel was snuggled up into his side and handing him liquor, and he didn’t really feel like ruining it. That was all.

“So anyway - thank-you, Andy-” Brooke took a glass from the younger Angel and settled into one of the squishy armchairs, “So anyway, this demon that had gotten summoned, he learned that they were planning for someone bigger and badder. But he _also_ learned that the demon who’d talked to the humans told them that they didn’t want any of their own ‘wasted’, so they had to send him back more or less in one piece.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s thigh, just as he felt the demon gearing up to say something again. Really. A delightful creature most days, but there was _something_ about this Brooke that was making him an absolute menace to deal with. “So that’s what made you think it was an _Angel_ they were trying to catch.”

“Yes.” Brooke said with relief, “If they didn’t want any of _ours_ wasted, then they must be trying to trap an Angel.”

“Which is not exactly comforting,” Andy chimed in for the first time.

“Oh, indeed not.” Aziraphale agreed, “But let’s talk about what led you to believe this had something to do with me, dear girl.”

“Well, actually, this is where Andy comes in.” Brooke nodded at her Angelic counterpart, “He ‘overheard a conversation’-” And here no one had to imagine the air quotes, cause Brooke did them around holding her glass, “-about demons planning to trap an Angel. And passed it up the chain.”

“Oh good,” Crowley groused, “So now whoever they’re planning it _with_ is tipped off.”

Andy sighed, then squinted his eyes at Brooke.

“You can do it.” She encouraged, seemingly nonsensically.

“I-” He started and stopped several times, then made a noise of frustration, “I can’t think of a way to do it.”

Brooke reached out and tapped the table between them all, as though patting his thigh, “I’ve got you.” The demoness turned and faced the two on the couch, but specifically she looked to Crowley, “So, fellow operative, I’ve heard there’s descent among the ranks of heaven.”

Crowley was _this close_ to snapping at her again. _This close._ But there was something in the way she was looking at him - raising her eyebrows, just generally being as obviously unsubtle as possible that made him say, “Oh really?”

She nearly melted into the chair in relief, “Oh yes.” Perking up she continued, as though passing along the dearest gossip, “The way I hear it, there’s at least two factions starting up in heaven. One that supports the Archangels and the traditional way of doing things, and one that supports this, just, absolutely _obscure_ little Principality stationed on Earth of all places! Can you believe it?”

“No.” He answered truthfully. Crowley could feel Aziraphale stiffen up at his side. This was news to them. He knew Lilah was on Aziraphale’s side, obviously, but she also seemed like she had her own agenda. Then there was that little Angel that came first - Chay-Chad or something. He obviously adored Crowley’s angel. But the kid was a little touched in the head. Still. A _faction._ He refrained from glancing over, afraid of what he’d see. Instead he locked eyes with Brooke, “I can’t.”

“Oh yes. _Dreadful,_ isn’t it?” She smiled without remorse, “That there’s dissent among the ranks? Well. Couldn’t happen to nicer people, I suppose.” She idly swirled her drink, and looked to Andy, giving him a pointed look.

Andy’s eyebrows pinched, his eyes flicking from Brooke to Aziraphale and back.

Crowley couldn’t hardly take it, “Spit it out! What is your problem?”

_“Crowley!”_

“Don’t you get it? He _can’t.”_

“What?”

“The reason he doesn’t talk to you, doesn’t acknowledge you, doesn’t compliment your shoes like he’s _dying_ to do or rave about how cool your car is like he’s wanted to from second one-”

_“Oh sweet heaven, thank-you.”_

“Hush-” Brooke admonished, “Is that he _can’t._ He only has permission to fraternize with _me,_ not you. The only thing he can say to you, Crowley, is chastizements. Banishments. And he doesn’t _want_ to say those things, so he says nothing.”

“Oh dear lord, he’s a triple.”

“What?” Crowley looked round, confused, even as Andy found the far wall terribly interesting, and Brooke smiled wider than it ought to be possible with a human face.

“He’s-!” Aziraphale turned to Crowley and told him in a hushed voice, “You know all that- that- _book-selling-spy_ business back in the 40’s?”

“How can I forget, angel?”

“It’s- _oh.”_ Aziraphale beamed a moment, sure they were recalling the same moment, “Anyway,” He tried valiantly to continue, a blush raising on his cheeks, “Ah. It’s like that. Where you tell someone you’re on their side, but _really_ you’re working for another, but you tell the first you're spying for them, and- and- it goes back again, and _oh dear boy.”_ Aziraphale lamented, “This is a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“Don’t I know it.” Andy grumbled.

“Oh alright, don’t get any practice at obfuscating! I’ll tell them.”

“It’s _lying,_ Brooke, and you know I can’t.”

“It’s not lying, it’s just not telling the whole truth or it's- fine, whatever. I’m not going to argue this with you again. Anyway, here’s the rub.”

Brooke leaned on the arm of her chair and lined it all out for them. Andy revealed to certain Angels that he’d overheard that Hell was planning to trap an Angel. They told him good job and gave him a pat on the head and told him to run along. They assured him it would be investigated. It never was. Palilah’s people were on the lookout in various divisions for the paperwork, but it never crossed anyone’s desk that it should have and raised all sorts of red flags with her. It was further suspect when someone accessed the true-name directory unauthorized. They couldn’t erase that they’d been there, but they were clever enough to get in and out without revealing who they were or who they were looking for.

“But it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Brooke concluded, gesturing at Aziraphale with her empty glass. They’d drank the most of the brandy between the four of them. But the decanter was still full. She wasn’t one to count horses. Or gifts. Or whatever the thing was with that. Booze.

“I see,” Aziraphale said, a little faintly, and stood, his fingertips going to his lips. His other hand worried the line of buttons down the front of his vest. He stepped away before Crowley could snag him back down.

“Aziraphale?”

“Well that’s it, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?” Crowley got up, concerned at the blank sort of look on his angel’s face.

“Undone by humans. Summoned and- and- killed.”

“No!” Crowley objected immediately, grabbing hold of Aziraphale by the elbow and reeling him in. He wrapped his arms around the Angel and hooked his chin over his shoulder, “We’ll think of something. Always do.”

“That Throne is supposed to be keeping him under surveillance,” Brooke said, getting up on slightly unsteady legs, and walking around the back of the loveseat.

“You sure?”

Brooke just tilted her head and gave Crowley a flat look. She pointedly looked to Andy, then back. “Yeah. Now, if you’ll excuse me - I have to go fix the disaster that is my hair and get ready for a night out.”

Brooke swept out of the room, leaving Andy standing awkwardly with his hands in his jean pockets, pointedly not looking at Crowley and Aziraphale hugging in the middle of the room.

“You should say that thing you say when you’re grateful, angel.”

After a moment, Aziraphale sniffled a little and looked up, confused, “Thank-you?”

“Not to me - to him.”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at the other Angel, who had a slight smile playing about his lips. “I’m fairly certain he can _hear_ you, Crowley, he just can’t _talk_ to you.”

“What? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“If you want to say thank-you, you should say it, dear.”

_“Never said I-”_

“Go on! You already gave an apology today, what’s a ‘thank-you’ as well?”

Crowley dithered and sighed and detached himself from Aziraphale. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Nope. Couldn’t do it.

“You know, I technically didn’t say the _words_ of- of-” Crowley whispered like it was a dirty word, _“-apology.”_

“You-! What? _Crowley!_ You get in there and apologize to that girl, after all she’s done. Are you really just going to stand here and refuse to-”

“Alright, _alright!”_ Crowley surrendered, throwing his hands up and slinking out of the room, “If it’ll make you _feel_ better.”

Aziraphale smiled, right up until he remembered Brooke was still sort of not really dressed, “Oh dear,” he turned to Andy, “Is she going to scream?”

Andy thought for a minute, then brightened and answered, “You should know, sir, that my adversary is an exhibitionist. She never minds an audience. Prefers, in fact, their participation.”

“Very good,” Aziraphale praised his hopping around acknowledging Crowley. Then frowned, “Oh dear. In that case, maybe I’d better go and save Crowley instead.”

Andy just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus! Life's been weird and crazy.  
> On with the plot! (sort of)


End file.
